


Chemical Romance

by Alessgrosskid (thatonegrosskid)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drugged Bruce Wayne, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Rape/Non-con Elements, brain washing, ie: bruce is drugged and being controlled for most of the story but theres no sexual assault, jeremiah valeska doesn't exsist, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonegrosskid/pseuds/Alessgrosskid
Summary: "Loosen up a little, Brucie. Just breath deep."Bruce Wayne is a GREAT kid! The only problem is that pesky little consious... Good thing Jerome's got a plan to take care of that!
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Oswald Cobblepot & Jerome Valeska, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Selina Kyle & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Chemical Romance

**Author's Note:**

> *dabs* ice had this in the drafts for a while, pls enjoy, i can twait for the violence to start. The rating will probrablt change as it goes on, but not for sexual stuff.
> 
> Please tell me if you see any egregious mistakes!

Bruce tried his best to sit still and quiet as he slowly woke from whatever mixture of drugging and head trauma had knocked him out in the first place. He could feel himself being jostled around along with who he assumed were various cultist goons, it wasn't hard to figure he was in the back of a vehicle (likely a van if the legroom was anything to go by). He could hear the lackeys, at least four, talking amongst themselves waiting for them to reach their destination. He couldn't hear Jerome though, so he slowly let one eye creak open to get a blurry look around him. 

He closed it quick, seeing a blur of pale skin and red hair sitting directly in front of him. Jerome was sitting back, watching Bruce or one of the cult members around him, but either way, he didn’t want to risk Jerome knowing he was conscious. The longer he could stall the inevitable villainous monologue the better.

Sadly, fate was, as in all things, not on his side. The van stopped and he could hear and feel it when the doors were slid open, goons flooding out as soon as they were able (six that he could count) leaving him alone with Jerome. The bastards.

“Rise and Shine, sleeping beauty,” Bruce could feel him leaning in to him, getting far closer that he was comfortable with, “I know you're up, let’s go.”

He let himself slowly open his eyes as he felt Jerome hop out of the van, taking note of everything around him to find something he could use to get out of this situation. Sadly, the van was too much of a fucking mess to make out anything through the clutter and he was being pulled out of the van too fast to try and make sense of anything. 

"Let’s go, already!" Jerome called, directing one of the lackies to drag Bruce along, "If we miss this because you decided to take your sweet time, I will grind your face into the gravel." 

The man nodded and pulled him along faster, whether in obedience or fear was anyone's guess. Surprisingly, when he looked around them, he didn’t see the ruins of a carnival or crumbled buildings or anything of the sort. They were at the edge of the woods, overlooking the bridge to gotham and a golden sunset. If not for being surrounded by creeps in clown makeup and within stabbing distance of Jerome, he could almost call the place calming.

Jerome pulled him away from the goon and down with him to sit on the edge of the hill in front of him, looking out at the bridge. The ginger wrapped his arms around Bruce's midsection, holding deceptively tight to stop any would be escape attempts. Jerome rested his chin on his shoulder, letting them both sit in silence for a moment while the extras milled about behind him. Even with the beautiful view, Bruce forced himself not to be swayed by the obnoxiously comfortable warmth at his back or the shine of the sun setting behind the city, pushing back everything but his will to stay still and alert in case Jerome tried something. 

"Isn't it exhausting," Jerome spoke into his ear, startling him, "always thinking so hard? I swear I could hear your brooding from across Gotham."

"Being able to think rationally doesn't mean i'm  _ Brooding _ ," he huffed, the small movement of speaking making him dizzy, obviously still being affected by whatever knocked him out in the first place. 

Jerome snickered, arms tightening around him. "Y'know, I like you, Brucie," He ran his thumbs absently up and down bruce's sides, "I think you're pretty fun. Think you'd be a lot more fun if you could just turn off that little  _ thing  _ in the back of your head that makes you so sour."

"That's called a conscience, you can't just turn it off." Bruce suppressed the urge to shudder at the facsimile or comfort he felt at Jerome's hands. 

"Yeah, we'll see about that." 

Jerome still held him tight, but one arm slid away to duck into his coat pocket, digging something out. Bruce tensed, preparing to knock Jerome away from him and run, but the ginger just rubbed at his side, like he was trying to massage the tension away. Jerome's arm made its way back around him holding up a small pop top bottle for him to see. 

"I'm gonna cut you a little deal, Brucie." He whispered beside his ear, "I'll let go of you, let you get up and do whatever you want."

Bruce nodded, eyes locked on the little bottle. "And in return?"

" _ First _ I'm gonna pop this lid. And you're gonna take a deep breath when I do." He ran his fingers over the bottle’s lid," Promise it won't knock you out or get you high or anything. You just have to sit with me and watch the sunset, then you're free to go."

Bruce sighed, "I'm guessing I don't have much of a choice?"

"No, you really don't." he popped the cap, letting a light vapor out into the air, "Now, deep breaths, Brucie."

Bruce wanted desperately to hold his breath but it was right under his nose and Jerome was still holding onto him threateningly. So, he reluctantly trusted Jerome wouldn't kill him and let himself breath in the worryingly scentless vapor. 

He didn't really notice when it hit him. It wasn't like when he had been drugged before, he didn't feel slow or uh. It was um. Hard to think. He tried to shake his head, concentrate on his own thoughts but they kept slipping away like. Like. 

Shit. Something? He was knocked further out of his thoughts by Jerome moving his chin out to face the sunset again.

"Isn't it pretty, Brucie?" He spoke into Bruce's ear and when he didn’t respond, he repeated, "the sunset. It's pretty, right?"

Something in the back of Bruce's mind wanted him to say no, but he can't. Think. Can't think of why. So he nodded because it is pretty, it's a sunset. Jerome told him to say it so he does because there's no reason not to if it's true. "Yeah, it's, uh, pretty." 

“This is nice, right?” Jerome asked and Bruce nods because it is. The sunset is pretty and he’s warm and. And um. “Do you wanna keep having a nice time?”

Bruce felt a little weird about it, but he nodded anyway. This was nice. Nice. nice. Nice. the word kept looping in his mind with nothing else to fill it up until it was just nothing again. It was weird not to think but it didn't feel bad, so it must be fine. Must be nice. Yeah. 

Jerome kept talking in his ear, asking him questions and asking again when it took too long for Bruce to answer. He didn’t pay too much attention, he was watching the sunset. It didn’t seem too bright or fuzzy, so he didn’t feel like the. The um. the stuff. The stuff didn’t affect him that bad. So he was fine, right? 

“Brucie?” Jerome asked, bringing Bruce back to the present, “Do you wanna keep having a good time?”

It was dark. It got dark and Bruce didn’t even notice. That- that was weird. He nodded anyway, trying and failing to think about what was going on while Jerome helped him to his feet. “I wanna have a good time,” he said, though it sounded like he was mumbling. He wanted- he wanted to have a good time. This was nice. Nice. Nice. Nice. 

“Alrighty, come on,” Jerome pulled him along, back to the van. He felt a bad feeling in his chest. That was- that was bad right? The van, the van was bad. He didn’t want to go back there. He stopped his feet, Jerome stopping with him. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce tried to put his words together in a way that made sense, “The- The uh. The van?” His face scrunched up as he tried to think, “It’s bad?” He hoped Jerome would understand, even though something about that felt so off. 

Jerome looked at him, then at the van and huffed, letting go of him for just a moment. He went over to the others, the clown guys? Goons! The goons. He went over and talked at them and then came back, holding on to him again and making him warm. “The sunset was nice right?” he asked, digging into his pocket. 

“Yeah.”

“And it was nice and warm?”

“Yeah? Yeah it was.”

“And I did that right? I made it nice for you?”

“I- yeah? Yeah, you did.”

“And I told you I would help you have a good time?”

“Yeah?”

“Breath in for me,” Bruce was already halfway through taking a deep breath when he noticed Jerome was holding something under his nose and then his thoughts just. Stopped. He just kept breathing until Jerome took the little bottle away, holding him tighter, “You good, kid?” 

Brude nodded, and leaned into Jerome, the air was cold and he was so warm. He felt nice, not  _ high  _ nice, just nice. Jerome held his chin, moving his face in toward his chest and started walking them forward, towards the van, but Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about it. He couldn’t even think about the van, his attention drawn and stuck to the soft shirt Jerome was wearing, pressing against his face. He could- he could feel it. It was soft and warm and uh. Yeah. It was nice. He didn’t notice when Jerome sat him down in the van, still held tight against him, or when it started moving. All he felt was the cold disappear and everything started bouncing, lulling him off in Jerome’s arms.

  
  


Bruce opened his eyes to a room very different to his own, all dark wood and covered in a sheen of dust, dappled sunlight coming through the trees outside the window. Sitting up, he felt his back hurt from sleeping on the thin mattress (and he was almost embarrassed about it), stretching while he tried to remember what had happened to get him here. He remembered getting knocked out the first time, riding in the van... making an ill advised but unavoidable deal. He remembers feeling calm. Watching the sunset, talking with Jerome, getting back into the van, but he couldn’t remember feeling anxious or upset or planning anything. It’s like his mind had been completely erased.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he jumped at the sudden voice, head swiveling towards the door to see Jerome in the doorframe. He looked more normal than Bruce was used to seeing him, a flannel and jeans as if he were a normal person hanging out in a cabin in the woods and not Jerome gosh dang Valeska.

"Where am I," he asked immediately, staring down Jerome, trying not to seem as bothered as he really was. 

"A cabin in the woods, courtesy of a  _ work friend _ ." He walked into the room, coming right up to the side of his bed. "Now get up and get dressed, there's food." He ripped the blanket off of him and nodded to the dusty dresser beside the bed before walking back out, smiling wide. 

Bruce was confused to say the least. If this was another murder plot, it wasn't one he had even seen before and it was throwing him all the way off. He waited until he couldn't hear Jerome's footsteps any more and slowly climbed off the bed, wincing as it creaked under him. Whatever was going on, it was best to go along until he could find his way out.

The dresser was full of black shirts, flannels and jeans, all in roughly his size. He ignored the over shirts and just pulled on one of the T-shirts, almost feeling naked without his usual layers and long sleeves. Looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched, he slipped out of his trousers and into the darkest pair of jeans he could find, frowning when they turned out just the littlest bit too big.

Whatever. He folded his clothes on the bed and walked out to presumably the living room/kitchen area where Jerome was waiting for him. There was a goon standing over by the door, not moving, so Bruce assumed he wouldn't be getting out of there anytime soon. He went to sit at the table and was presented with a large stack of pancakes, a pitcher of water, a bottle of juice and a familiar little bottle.

"Should I serve myself?" He asked, mostly sarcastically, watching Jerome across the table warily.

"Do you  _ want  _ someone to serve you, Brucie?" Jerome asked back , standing and moving over to his side of the table, "I will, if that’ll make you  _ happy. _ "

Something about the way he said that word sent a weird feeling down Bruce's back. It wasn’t... bad. Necessarily. But he didn’t want to think about it being anything good. 

“Do whatever you want,” He looked away, but could almost hear the  _ smile  _ on Jerome's face. 

He tried to keep his eyes off of the table, looking out the window or scanning the room for anything that could help him get out of there but Jerome grabbed him by the chin and turned his head forward. There was a short stack of pancakes on his place, already buttered and drenched in syrup and Jerome was smiling at him like he wasn't a mass murderer who had kidnapped him not 24 hours earlier.

"Eat up," he patted Bruce on the cheek and went to take his own seat, "We've got a long day ahead of us."


End file.
